


Enter a Knight

by muselives



Category: Castle, Fringe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-31
Updated: 2010-03-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:28:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/muselives/pseuds/muselives
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha Rodgers meets "white knight" Special Agent Nick Lane off-duty. [<a href="http://sabinetzin.dreamwidth.org/208891.html">A Ficathon Walks Into A Bar</a>, "Nick Lane walks into a bar and meets... Martha Rodgers!"]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Enter a Knight

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote this after writing two sequel installments. The muses were just a little tricky to prod on this one. I wrote this before the two-parter so my take on Martha diverges with that plot. Picking a title for this was absolutely ridiculous; I settled on this one because of Martha's stage metaphor and because I felt the title absolutely had to be about her perception of Nick. _Fringe_ AU where Nick works for the FBI. Spoilers through all seasons. Beta courtesy of .

It was over, she thought with unusual solemnity; she and Chet were truly over. His daughter was having a baby and she'd asked him to move closer to her so he could be a part of his grandchild's life. On a wild impulse, Chet had proposed to her over dinner but when they'd both realized that they were two old people more in love with their families than each other, they'd broken it off.

Not that it didn't sting all the same. Chet was wonderful and she'd even consider going through the whole nonsense of marriage again for an old flame who had a gift for tugging her heartstrings. On the other hand, there was her own granddaughter to consider. Alexis was already a young woman and it would only be a couple of years before she'd be off to college. Maybe it was greedy but Martha wanted her part in those years. No, much as she loved Chet, he wasn't the one to sweep her away from all this.

And New York was soothing in its odd way. Even the honks of taxi cabs and the swearing of pedestrians seemed lovely. She'd walked until she'd found a bar that suited her--clean but not uptight, full but not packed--and bought herself some wine. Any other night she would have gone home and unburdened her heart but to whom? Alexis was sleeping over at a friend's and Richard was out playing poker with his fellow writers. No, this evening she was the seasoned veteran supporting the real stars: the young couple giggling at the pool table, the old man anchored to the jukebox with a dark ale in hand, the young man who'd shed his suit jacket for a game of darts. She missed the spotlight at times but not tonight.

The bell hung over the front door gave a light ring as another patron stepped in. Martha gave him a good look over: a young man, tall, lean, blond with blue eyes. He wore a well-cut suit and he greeted the man playing darts politely but not warmly. A regular, she decided, and her suspicion was confirmed when the bartender gave the man a whiskey instead of a greeting. "And how about another for the lady?" he asked the bartender as he took off his suit jacket.

It took Martha a moment to realize the newcomer meant her. "Oh, no, that's not necessary."

"Please," he insisted, turning to her with a smile. "I'm trying to break the ice. Surely that's worth the price of wine."

She arched an eyebrow and answered dryly, "My fine young man, you have no idea what I'm drinking."

He laughed and offered her his hand, which she took. "Nick Lane."

"Martha Rodgers." Determined not to let the jumble of excitement and nerves get the better of her, she dug deep and brought out her best _grand dame_. "Are you some kind of professional white knight or do you just like charming older women in your free time?"

The question brought out of him a slight, secretive smile. "Both. I'm a cop by profession and a romantic by habit. Either way, I can't resist a damsel in distress."

"Do I look distressed?" she asked, coolly as she could manage.

"No, just a little lonely."

His words were not barbed or invasive, nor falsely sympathetic or condescending, just factual. It gave her butterflies, especially when he fixed her with those clear blue eyes. "I was a little lonely," she felt herself admitting softly before she could hold back the words. Then she recovered herself and added in a brighter tone, "But I'm not alone now."

"Right," Nick agreed with that peculiar smile of his. He drank some of his whiskey and looked around the bar. When he set down his glass, he asked, "Do you play darts?"

She decided to hedge and answered, "A little, now and then."

"How about a game?" he offered.

"How about two out of three?" she countered.

He slid off of his stool and held out his hand to her. "Alright Martha, you're on."


End file.
